


To the Moon and Back

by backintimeforstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s05e01 The Eleventh Hour, F/M, The Eleventh Hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backintimeforstuff/pseuds/backintimeforstuff
Summary: The Doctor muses over the seven reasons he goes back for Amelia Pond.An Eleventh Hour one-shot.





	To the Moon and Back

He doesn’t entirely intend to run. 

Well, not in the way Amy sees it. 

His entire philosophy is built upon running towards things, so he thinks in this instance, running towards the TARDIS and clattering off towards the moon for a quick jaunt can be entirely forgiven. 

Leaving her behind is just a consequence. It’s not forming the reason. 

He’d never run away from her, not really. Not like that. 

Even now, as he stands in the control room of his brand-new TARDIS, the copper shimmering off the walls, he’s not running away from her. He’s not even going back for her, because changing time is something to which he is almost always opposed. 

Anyway, going back for her feels like cheating. 

It’s like trying to fix all the mistakes before they’ve even happened, and however much she may belittle him for those 12 years, without them, it would never be the same. 

He can’t pretend that he doesn’t quite enjoy the first few days of nothingness; just him and his box, sitting on the edge of a crater and watching the stars come out. Even when he inevitably gets roped into saving a small colony on the far side of the moon, he saunters back to his little blue box with a smile. 

But then, he thinks, enough is enough. 

He’s never one to sit still for too long, and anyway, being alone is guaranteed to start driving him up the wall if he doesn’t do something about it. There’s nothing more inviting than going into a corner of the cosmos, saving a planet and finding someone brand-new; someone to show all the wonders of the universe to. 

It’s only when he catches himself in the reflection of the time rotor – all bow ties and tweed – that he stops and stares. 

Amy Pond. 

The TARDIS hums quietly in response to his indecision. 

He never goes back for people. That’s what reason tells him, in all it’s complexity, muddled together with laws of time and personal preference.

But then again, he’s never listened to reason. His mind flits back to being hit over the head with a cricket bat. He suspects, neither has she. 

If his mind is firmly stuck on her, he pulls himself together enough to find a post-it-note in the depths of his pocket. 

In red pen, he frowns, and writes: 

1\. Adored.

It’s what he used to think, he supposes, all those years ago. 

He’d tell people he was the last of his kind just to see the fear in their eyes, as they cowered at the power of his nature. He could go anywhere, do anything; disobey the laws of time, because compared to him, they were nothing. 

But, he’s not that kind of man anymore, and if he is, he doesn’t want to be. 

He’s the Doctor with the floppy quiff and a lopsided smile, so to hell with it if he wants to be adored. 

Adoration is nowhere near the reason he’s going back for her, and even if it was, he doesn’t think Amy would ever look up to him with the kind of adoration he’s imagining. 

So he crosses a line through it. 

He looks dimly around the empty control room, and then puts:

2\. Lonely.

Well, at least this one is true. 

It’s not to say he enjoys his own company, but he’s found he’s pretty prone to rambling in this new regeneration, which is never a good sign. He hates the earache he gets from it, the sound of his own voice driving him insane before he’s even finished a sentence. He needs someone around to spark off, for fear of going insane. 

That’s what he’ll tell her, if she ever asks. 

He also knows all to well that being alone lulls him into a false sense of security, the need for adoration creeping back out from amongst the shadows. He can’t have that again, not this time. 

Just when he thinks he’s got to the bottom of it – pen hovering over paper – he stops. To curb loneliness, well, he could have anyone. He could land anywhere in the universe right now and just, pick someone. 

His reflection stares back at him, eyes gleaming with the memories of Amelia Pond. 

Something tells him that it has to be her. 

So he crosses a line through loneliness too. 

He writes: 

3\. Backyard. 

And looks guiltily towards the TARDIS door. 

All of time and space, everything that is or ever was is right outside those doors, and he hates to admit that he’s bored of it. It feels like he almost owns the sky, in a way that makes his skin crawl, because no one should have the power to do that. Just to see it, would be more than enough. 

Having Amy with him, well, it would certainly fit the bill. 

She’d see wonders in things he’d long forgotten, see hope in places which have long been dark to him. He misses feeling hope more that he could ever begin to admit.  
He wants to the stars with a sense of wonder, and if going back for her in that respect is entirely selfish, well; there are worse reasons. 

He eyes the first word on his list with distaste. 

‘When you see it, I see it’, is the line he has prepared for her, again, if she ever asks. 

But then he draws an angry line through ‘Backyard’ too. Because somehow, it’s not enough. 

The colony on the dark side of the moon could show him hope. He could go back there right now, pick someone at random. 

But anyone isn’t the point.

He thinks about the night he met her, standing as she was with her torch, in her nightie. She’d sat almost fearlessly across the table and told him all about the voices from inside her bedroom wall.

So he smiles slightly, and writes:

4\. Saving her. 

Because if his philosophy is centred around running towards things, then interfering in the affairs of people and planets comes entirely naturally. 

Something in the back of his mind tells him there’s something wrong with her big, empty house, and the crooked smile crack, just waiting, dormant - ready to strike. He comes to call when children cry, and he saves them, so he supposes it makes sense. 

But again, he shakes his head. 

He could get away with it, if he really, really tried, but going back just to save her, well, it just feels like an excuse. 

He ponders over his fourth bullet point, sticking the pen in his mouth before drawing a faint line through it.

He’s been around the universe more times than he can count, so saving people, saving her, it’s a given, not a reason. 

It’s still not enough. 

The TARDIS hums at his process, forcing him to think harder. He wants so desperately to go back for her. But why?

After a moment, he writes:

5\. Debt. 

On the topic of saving, he thinks, she did just that. He may have been the one with the speech, but Amelia Pond saved the world and she doesn’t even know it. 

He’s in debt, at least, for that. 

The cloister bell chimes dimly, once, from far away, and he nods solemnly in response to its tone. He knows that the TARDIS is trying to tell him that finally, finally; he’s got it right.

Without passing a line through it, he moves on from 'Debt' and writes: 

6\. Promises. 

Because living up to them never seemed so important. 

Trust me I’m the Doctor. 

He’d looked Amelia Pond right in the eyes and told her he’d be back for her. Yet here he is, debating it. 

But there is no debate.

She’s the girl who waited, and she’s waited long enough. 

So he turns the post-it-note over, and pens a final question:

7\. How can I resist?

He’s standing inside his blue box on the surface of the moon, and somewhere on the planet below is mad, impossible, Amelia Pond. 

He thinks 239,000 miles between them will always be enough. 

\--- 

When he does go back for her, when he stands facing her in the moonlight like some kind of hero in a fairy-tale, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

When it takes her no time at all to ask: "Why me?", he's not surprised. 

He catches sight of his reflection before looking right at her through the glass of the time rotor. 

He crumples the post-it-note inside his pocket and smiles. 

“Why not?”


End file.
